


Never Meaning To Send

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Off-screen Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "After HJ dies Nelly goes to his house to sort everything out and finds a goodbye letter from HJ, who knew someone was out to kill him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Meaning To Send

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Moody Blues song "Nights in White Satin". Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this fic, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

No one seems to miss Hooded Justice when he goes missing, nobody but Nelson. Rolf was always on the outskirts of the Minutemen, the surly watchdog at the perimeter who was all but unapproachable by members and outsiders alike. It isn't surprising that no one cares that he hasn't been seen in three and a half weeks, not when it's coming up on six years since the Minutemen called it quits, but that doesn't mean it isn't difficult.

"Didn't you say he was sleeping around worse than ever?" Sally says. He imagines her on the other end of the telephone, looking not one bit the housewife she's become. She has always looked stunning, and neither birthing nor raising a child has done anything to change that. "Honey, I hate to have to say it, but he's probably run off for good, and you need to move on."

Maybe she's right. Rolf has vanished before, only to turn up for a good round in bed as if nothing ever happened -- but he had never been gone for this long. Nelson can't quite put his finger on it, but the more he thinks about it, the more certain he is that something sinister is at hand.

Hollis sounds more concerned than Sally, because it's perfectly natural for a costumed adventurer to be extremely concerned by the disappearance of his partner -- more so than for a man to be distressed by the absence of an unfaithful lover. "I'll call some of my old pals in the department," he promises. "Any leads, I'll have them send the info to me. I'll keep you in the loop."

Eight whole weeks pass without a word from anyone. It's a rainy Saturday when the phone rings.

"Nelly, it's Hollis. Listen..." There's a long pause, and Nelson knows it's bad news. "It doesn't confirm anything for sure, you have to understand that. But, uh, they found a body. Washed up on the shore in Boston. Police haven't put an I.D. on the body yet, but it's a big guy. Matches HJ's build." Nelson doesn't say anything, because there's nothing to say. "But this was _Boston_ , that's a long way for a body to go. All the way up the coast..." He trails off lamely, he's said enough.

"Thank you, Hollis," Nelson says, as calmly as he can. "Thanks for keeping me informed." He shouldn't just hang up on Hollis. He does it anyway.

Nelson sits down on the sofa, quiet and still. His thoughts are exactly the same as they are every time he feels the tears coming: _Men don't cry, soldiers don't cry. Heroes don't cry._ He can't help himself. He never could.

~*~*~*~*~

One thing that Nelson has always found comforting is having a strategy, a good solid plan of action. "If you know what you're doing next, you'll never be lost," he used to say. Byron used to retort, "No plan is perfect, Nelly. Paths can shift right under your feet, and then what do you do?" Now Byron spends his days drinking himself into a coma. There was a man who hadn't had a very good plan.

Having a plan is the only thing keeping him sane, and the next logical step for him is to go to Rolf's place and clear out his belongings. He has only been there a few times; it's a fairly small apartment in a building full of people coming and going, and the walls were thin. In other words, it was far less conducive to their types of meetings than Nelson's modest yet private home. Yet, he's been there enough times for the landlord to recognize him when he and Larry come by.

"You know why Muller ain't been paying his rent?" the landlord asks. Nelson had never been sure if he was pronouncing Rolf's name exactly right, but this man doesn't even try. "You tell 'im he can't hide forever."

"Mr. Mueller," Nelson says stiffly, "has gone missing, believed deceased. We're here to pack up his things."

"Dead? You sure?"

Larry steps in with all the polish of a professional. "He has been listed with the police as missing for two months now, and has not contacted any friends in nearly three. Either he is deceased, or he has left New York without plans to return. In either case, it is to everyone's benefit to clear out his apartment immediately."

The landlord gives them a key and his blessing.

Little has changed in the apartment since Nelson was there last, nearly six months ago. Everything is neat, with the notable exceptions of a few holes in the walls. Larry does not have to ask how they got there; Rolf's temper was no secret to anyone who knew him more than casually. As always, Nelson appreciates Larry's discretion. It's because of that discretion that he's only a little embarrassed when they come across an item that suggests some of Rolf's unusual proclivities -- a few lewd photos tucked into a drawer, and what appears to be a table tennis paddle, with a worn, leather-wrapped handle. Larry simply gathers everything into the boxes they've brought without batting an eye, and Nelson is deeply grateful for that.

They pack away books, cookware, clothes, everything they can fit. Nelson is so focused on getting the task done, that as he sweeps a stack of papers into a box, he almost fails to notice that on the top is an envelope addressed to him. _NELLY_ , it says, in Rolf's large scrawl. His heart starts to race as he tears the envelope open and reads the letter inside.

"Something important?" Larry asks mildly.

Nelson crams the letter into his pocket. "Could be," he says. It's a lie, what the letter says is vastly important. But the path is shifting under him, and he needs to finish this step before he creates a new strategy. They complete the packing and drive back to Nelson's place, the car stuffed with the remnants of Rolf's life.

He buys Larry dinner to thank him for his trouble, but the whole while he's itching to be alone so he can reread the letter and think about what it means. The instant he is at home alone, he does just that.

_Nelly,_

_If you're reading this, I've been gone long enough to warrant concern. At this point, I have either managed to find a safe place to stay, or I am dead. Someone has been following me for several weeks. I have deliberately avoided seeing you so as not to draw attention to you and risk bringing you into this. I believe this is directly related to my refusal to appear at the HUAC hearings; that is, I think the man following me is operating on government orders. Even more disturbing is that I have caught glimpses of him, and he bears a remarkable resemblance to our old friend the Comedian. I have heard rumors that he is on government payroll now, but even without that, he has enough personal incentives to want me dead._

_It's no longer safe in New York -- Blake is not a child anymore, and if he wants me dead, he has the means to do it. I am going into hiding. Do not try to find me. I will contact you, if possible, when it is safe._

_Yours,  
R._

In the privacy of his own home, Nelson is free to let his emotions show in a way he was not willing to do back at Rolf's apartment. There are no tears now, though. He snarls angrily and curses Edward Blake, the evil little bastard. Here in the letter is proof that Rolf still cared -- of course, he was smart enough not to write anything like that down, but it was there all the same -- and Blake took that from him. He's going to kill him; he's going to knock every tooth out of that stupid smile, and then kill him, just like _he_ killed Rolf. All over a grudge from the way Rolf humiliated him back in 1940. Rolf was no angel, but Blake was on par with the Devil, and he was the one who deserved death.

 _1940._ He needs to tell Sally.

~*~*~*~*~

If Sally had gone pale when he told her it was Blake who shot and killed his lover, she's now going ghostly white when he says he plans to take his revenge in kind.

"Nelly... I don't think you should do that," she says slowly.

"What? Why the hell not?" He knows he shouldn't cuss with Laurel playing over there in the corner, but he's heard Sally do it before, and he's beyond angry.

Her voice is a fierce whisper. "He's dangerous! What makes you think he wouldn't get you first?"

"I can be dangerous too, you know! And he's had it coming to him for a long time, you know that as well as I do. He took away the person I loved, and I'm going to make the evil son of a bitch pay. What are you making that face for, are you feeling alright?"

Sally's face had suddenly become pained. "He's not _evil_."

He thinks she must have gone crazy, but instead he says, "I don't see any evidence to support that."

She sighs, closes her eyes, and speaks softly, as if reliving a memory. "About six years ago... he came to me." She pauses, letting the words sink in. "He was _gentle,_ more than you'd ever think possible." 

Nelson can't believe his ears. Maybe he's the one going crazy. "Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

Sally casts her eyes very slowly and deliberately from him to little Laurel and back again. "Six years," she repeats.

"Jesus," Nelson starts, and then all of Sally's subtleties are gone.

"Don't you dare judge me, Nelly Gardner," she says, eyes flashing. "For fifteen years I've never said a word against you." He started to say that it was different, but he sees her point. "Don't kill him. Show Hollis the letter and have Eddie arrested. He deserves it. But don't kill him."

Reluctantly, he agrees, for Sally's sake, and for Laurel's.

~*~*~*~*~

His fingers still itch to get around Blake's neck and crush the life out of him. He tells himself he's only holding himself back for the sake of his longtime friend, but in truth he's rational enough to know that murdering someone on government payroll will only get him locked away. Better that he stay a free man, where he can try to continue doing some good in the world. Better that Blake rot in a cell than him.

He calls Hollis, presents the letter. An inquiry ensues -- first at the city level, all the way up to the FBI. The papers follow the investigation every step of the way. Nelson makes sure of that. Damaging Blake's reputation is child's play.

"What Hooded Justice meant by the Comedian's incentives to want him dead, is that the Comedian long resented him. Back in the early days of the Minutemen, HJ caught the Comedian about to assault a woman. He stopped him, roughed him up pretty badly. The Comedian hated him ever since, so clearly HJ was afraid that the Comedian would use his new power to settle the old grudge."

Blake makes no official statements, but lets the government speak for him. And they say a lot, whatever it will take to keep their prized assassin in their custody.

In the end, all charges are dismissed. Rolf Mueller, a.k.a. Hooded Justice, was deemed an enemy of the state due to his refusal to cooperate with the HUAC. According to the Committee spokesman, he might have been a Communist conspirator, and Edward Blake, a.k.a. the Comedian, was operating under orders from Uncle Sam.

In the end, Nelson puts his fist through a wall and wishes he had just put a bullet in Blake's head, rather than put his trust in a bureaucratic and flawed justice system.

But nothing ever ends, and life goes on tediously. He's bitter, consumingly so. He starts going to church again in the hopes of clearing the growing hatred and cynicism from his mind. It doesn't work.

The CIA never wanted their top assassin to become a public figure, but now that it's happened, they've put a lot of effort into improving his image. They extol him as "America's Best Defense Against The Reds!" It's a major blow to Nelson's considerable patriotic side. A criminal like Blake is the last person who ought to be defending the country, he thinks. It's not what America is supposed to be.

~*~*~*~*~

Over ten years pass, and once again Nelson finds himself facing a room full of people in costumes, welcoming them, hoping to lead them in shaping a better future. This will be a new beginning for him, he thinks hopefully. It's a second chance.

Of course, Blake _would_ show up to ruin everything.

"Heard you were throwing a party," he grins.

Nelson used to fumble for words, used to be pretty slow on his feet, but the years have turned him sour and sharp-tongued. "You're crashing. This is my house, and you are _not_ welcome here."

"Just thought I could offer my services. Looks like you bozos could use the help."

All eyes are on Nelson, and he chooses his words carefully. "Blake, there are ladies present," he says pointedly. Laurel cocks an eyebrow. She still doesn't know. "Knowing you, I don't think you should be here. Who knows what you might do."

Blake's lip curls, and suddenly he's moving towards Nelson very quickly. Just as suddenly, he's gone, in a flash of blue-white light.

"I looked into my future and saw him committing atrocities," Dr. Manhattan says calmly in response to their wide-eyed stares. "Captain Metropolis is right, we could not trust him as a partner."

Maybe it's because of those words of support that everyone seems more interested in the Crimebusters, though Manhattan's vanishing trick couldn't have hurt. The young Nite Owl backs the idea completely, and his enthusiasm seems to be enough for both him and his laconic partner. Ozymandias says he'd like to speak with Nelson in private afterwards, that he has some ideas he'd like to share. And Laurel, much shrewder than most sixteen-year-old girls, keeps eying him suspiciously, as if she's hoping he'll explain himself. He'll leave that to Sally. Laurel will grow up to hate her father, and that's sort of a victory in and of itself. 

For the first time since 1955, Nelson feels like he's won.


End file.
